The veterinarian, a man named Dr. Hart, didn't give them any helpful information, so after that interview Sam and Dean checked into a motel to research online while Bobby hit a local library to search the local newspaper archives.

They searched the Internet for similar cases and for anything that could make dogs turn on their owners, but no matter what they typed into search engines Dean and Sam couldn't come up with anything.

After two hours, Dean pushed his chair from the table and put his head in his hands.

"This isn't working," he huffed. "Whatever's going on here, we're not going to find it written down anywhere. We should be out investigating."

"Investigating where?" Sam inquired. "We have no way of knowing how many dogs and which ones will attack people. We don't know what the cause is."

Dean stood. "I don't know," he replied. "But we need to do something."

He headed for the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Sam returned to his research, clicking on a video clip that had just been posted on a local news page.

A young reporter with auburn hair began to speak to the camera.

"I'm here, standing in front of the house of Georgia Weems, who was found dead just two hours ago in her home," the reporter said. "The police have yet to give an official statement, but it appears that Miss Weems' dog, a Saint Bernard named Bear, attacked her and tore..."

"Dean," Sam called out. "There was another attack."

Silence.

"Dean?" Sam frowned. "Dean, answer me."

He stood and walked over to the bathroom door and knocked. "Is everything okay in there? Dean?"

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in his side and Sam fell to his knees, grimacing. "Argh."

He wrapped his arms around his waist but the pain didn't go away.

"Dean!" he yelled in last-ditch effort to get his brother's attention.

Again Dean didn't answer. Something was wrong. Maybe whatever was happening to him had happened or was happening to Dean too.

Sam didn't get the chance to open the bathroom door to check. Just as his right hand grasped the handle, all the bones in his body shifted, and everything went black.

"Well this was a waste of time," Bobby grumbled as he shut the last of the folders containing local newspaper articles.

He'd found absolutely nothing in the three hours he'd been at the library. To say he was frustrated was to put it mildly.

Bobby handed the librarian the folders and headed out to his car, hoping Dean and Sam had found something. They needed to start gaining ground or else the town could go into a panic. Nearly sixty percent of the locals owned at least one dog and there were strays around as well. If whatever was making the dogs attack people got serious, Bobby knew it could get ugly fast.

Bobby drove to the motel Sam had texted him earlier with the room number. When he found the door, he knocked.

"Sam, Dean, open up," he bellowed.

He waited ten seconds then knocked again.

When there was no answer, Bobby glanced around before fishing something out of his pockets to unlock the door.

Once he was inside, Bobby looked around. Dean and Sam's laptops were on the table. Dean's lid was down, Sam's was up and his computer was in sleep mode- a white light slowly dimmed and brightened over and over again from the edge of the bottom half.

Sam and Dean's jackets hung over their chairs and their bags sat on their beds, but they were nowhere in sight.

Bobby was about to pull his cell phone out to dial Sam's phone number when he heard a happy whine below him. He looked down to see a yellow Labrador at his feet, staring back up at him. Its tail wagged back and forth so fast it was blurry.

"How'd you get in here?" Bobby asked warily.

The dog took a step towards him and Bobby pulled out his gun.

The dog flinched and cowered away, tail between his legs.

"A normal dog wouldn't react that much to a gun," Bobby said. "Tell me who you are and what you did with Dean and Sam, or else I'll have to shoot ya."

The dog slowly made his way around Bobby, careful to keep as much distance between him and Bobby as possible as he headed for the table.

He then hopped up on the chair Sam's jacket hung over and to Bobby's amazement, touched Sam's laptop's mouse pad with his nose to wake the computer before clicking on a documents file with it. Once on a blank page, the dog carefully grabbed a pen that had its cap on, with his mouth, and tilted his head so that the tip was above the keypad and began tapping keys.

Bobby cautiously walked towards the Labrador until he could read what the dog was typing.

mew nme it mer saasammm

"Sorry, I don't speak that language," Bobby grunted, trying to hide how unsettled the dog's talent was making him.

The dog heaved a breath and typed again, slowly, carefully.

sam

Bobby starred at the Labrador as the pen fell from his jowls and the dog glanced up at him, panting.

"Holy hell!" Bobby exclaimed, eyes widening. "Sam? You're SAM?"